Dr. Zhivago's Muse Poem by Dennis Lange

There is within a rising up
That soon would burst and flood,
Unless it flows, and quickly flows
Like life's own precious blood.

How startling has been the rush
That comes from deep within
Like lava's roar, the deadly roar,
That swallowed Pompeii's men.

Its breath is hot; it fires my cheeks,
And sets aflame my mind
With thoughts of you, and only you -
Drake's beaut, the Golden Hind.

And so it flows from heart to pen
As fast as I can write,
Of Lara's love, the burning love
That keeps me up at night.